He's slipping. She can hear it in the ragged pants of his breath, the slowing of his thumb, the pulsing in the vein of his neck. At least he can keep up -- that's usually the problem she has with partners. Human ones, anyway. There's another distant, vague coiling -- his -- in her navel, slithering up beside hers. It keeps her warm & steady, so she doesn't mourn the loss of his thumb on her clit.
When they lock eyes her pupils narrow just a tiny bit. She can't really get a read on him emotionally. She's not sure if it's because it's him or the situation, the raw & primal & pretty much all-consuming act they're tangled up in. Maybe they're just too close together; she can almost taste the cool mint on his breath he must has chewed before he arrived, the tip of his nose bumping the side of hers & the way it pushes around the short fur. He doesn't leave her much extra time to think too hard about it thought.
As he ducks his head to bite her roughly she hisses, lip curling over her sharp teeth as she moves her head in the opposite direction, give him a bit more leeway. Though she's given him quite a bit already, maybe too much as he growls against her ear.
She growls in return, it's much more sharp & pointed than the one she let loose just before. This one was a warning. Free paw moves quick as a flash to press against his mouth (though because of the size of it, it's pretty much covering his nose & jaw, too). Greer jerks her head back, forces his eyes back on her -- claws graze threateningly against the back of his jaw where it connects to his skull.
Eyes, just for a flash, turn venomous. "Three strikes, asshole."
